


save a little warmth for me

by justbecauseyoubelievesomething



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Christmas Tree, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, Dropship era, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Pet Names, Public Display of Affection, Secret Santa, Self-Indulgent, The Delinquents, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething
Summary: Clarke tips her head back and then blinks at Wells a few times.“Bring it back?”He looks positively giddy. “For Christmas.”“Christmas?”He puts one hand on his hip, fondly exasperated. “We’re on the ground now, Clarke. We can celebrate Christmas.”They used to watch old movies together, curled up on her sofa with a threadbare blanket tucked around their toes. She remembers the Christmas movies, filled with glittering snow and rosy cheeks and lots of kissing. A lot of kissing.She shakes her head, but she’s smiling now. “You want to celebrate Christmas?”“Don’t you?”She maybe, definitely, does.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 60
Collections: Bellarke Secret Santa 2020





	save a little warmth for me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elle_stone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_stone/gifts).



> Prompted by my lovely and ever patient Bellarke Secret Santa recipient: Bellarke established relationship + Christmas traditions with the delinquents!
> 
> I honestly meant to give this more plot, but it just kept turning into more and more fluff, so I hope you don't mind this somewhat aimless bit of Christmas fic!

Clarke rolls over and is greeted with frosty air nipping at the tip of her nose. She squeaks and yanks the covers back up over her face, wiggling backwards into bed.

Bellamy groans as her heel catches him in the calf. “Good morning?”

She flips over again, winter air chasing her between the warm blankets. “Sorry. Cold.”

He peers over the pillows at her between half-closed lids. “You don’t say?”

She mock punches his arm and he grins. “Come here.”

She immediately snuggles into his side, head tucked against his chest. He radiates warmth and she soaks it in gratefully, curling her feet around his leg so even her toes will stay warm.

“Better?”

“Mmhmm…”

The morning light is slowly growing brighter around the edges of the window cover. It’s been overcast for weeks, but the soft lines of yellow stretching across the floor promise sunshine and clear blue skies. Clarke smiles and reaches up to softly run her fingers along Bellamy’s stubbled chin.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” His voice rumbles deeply through his chest and Clarke leans into him contentedly. Peaceful for the moment.

  
  
  


It starts like this: the hundred are dying. The cold is killing them, helped along by a slow and steady starvation. Bellamy is thin as a rail and Clarke worries as she watches him move around the camp day in and day out. One of these days she’ll open the flap to his tent and he’ll be curled in a little ball, sleeping the deep sleep of death. 

She can’t stand that image.

So one night when the wind is harsh and it feels like every breath is full of ice shards, she crawls into his tent and plops her bedroll down next to him.

“Hmm?” He’s half-asleep, so tired that he barely stirs as she lies down with him, shoulder to shoulder.

“Too cold to be alone,” she offers shortly and he doesn’t argue. In fact, by morning, he’s tangled around her, snoring softly against her ear. They’re both warm. And alive.

She counts that as the first victory that year.

The second is when Wells drags her out into the forest, ends of his blue scarf flapping merrily in the wind.

“It’s a huge tree, Clarke. Gigantic!”

“Gigantic,” she repeats stonily. Her toes are numb and she really needs to get back to camp to help Charlotte with her persistent cough.

Wells grins and tugs her along down narrowly beaten paths, slick with ice, around stony outcroppings and finally into a little grove of evergreens. Clarke pulls up short and takes a deep breath, the warm scent of the needles lingering in her nose. The snow only lies a few inches deep under the thickly woven branches and she swears that her face warms a few degrees as she steps into the glade.

“This is beautiful.”

“I know.” Wells is almost jumping up and down with excitement. “But here’s the one I want to take back.”

He pulls her to the center of the grove where a massive fir tree towers above most of the others. Clarke tips her head back and then blinks at Wells a few times.

“Bring it back?”

He looks positively giddy. “For Christmas.”

“Christmas?”

He puts one hand on his hip, fondly exasperated. “We’re on the ground now, Clarke. We can celebrate Christmas.”

They used to watch old movies together, curled up on her sofa with a threadbare blanket tucked around their toes. She remembers the Christmas movies, filled with glittering snow and rosy cheeks and lots of kissing.  _ A lot _ of kissing.

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling now. “You want to celebrate Christmas?”

“Don’t you?”

She maybe, definitely, does.

The third victory is when they get Bellamy on their side, with a bottle of whiskey between them as they make plans. Plans for a party to lift everyone’s spirits. Story-telling. Gifts and moonshine. Dancing and singing and games.

Bellamy meets her gaze and there’s something new dancing in his warm eyes. “Sounds good to me, Princess.”

  
  
  


After three years on the ground, the cabins dotting the Dropship camp are sturdier and more winterproof than ever; a far cry from the first few rickety structures the delinquents built. Befriending the Trikru clan was an arduous process, but it brought them better resources and dozens of helping hands when it came to the next year of building. Including enough stone for fireplaces.

Clarke thanks the powers-that-be for her fireplace once again as she hops from one foot to the other in front of it, attempting to put her pants on without letting her toes touch the cold floorboards.

“Practicing dance moves for the party?” Bellamy laughs. He’s bent over the table on the far side of the room, already wrapped in a thick overcoat, booted feet drumming lightly against the floor. 

Clarke sticks her tongue out at him and he laughs again. His hands are busy, fingers flying across several small pieces of pine wood. The fresh scent blooms across the room.

Clarke finally manages to hop into her pants and back over to the edge of the bed, scooping up her thick wool socks. “Are you going to tell me who the lucky giftee is?”

Bellamy stays bent over his work, but she can see the edge of his smile curl up. “Nope.”

“Just a hint?”

“You know in a couple hours you’ll know anyways, right?”

Clarke slips her socks over her feet and wiggles her toes in relief. “Spoilsport.”

“Busybody.”

Another wave of fondness tickles in Clarke’s chest and she pads across the room to kiss the dark curls along his temple. “Almost ready?”

He hesitates long enough to reach up and brush her cheek softly. “Almost.”

Clarke smiles at the absent sound in his voice. “Alright, I’ll let you focus.”

She busies herself around the cabin, raking coals over the fire to keep it low for the rest of the day, setting out seed and water in the attached chicken coop.

They bundle up to head out, respective gifts wrapped conspicuously in bits of colorful cloth. Clarke stays close to Bellamy’s side, using his broad frame as a shield from the icy wind. The sun is shining brightly overhead, but it almost feels colder without the blanket of clouds pressing down. Fresh snow lies in powdery drifts around the camp, stirring up in little whirlwinds of fairy dust as their feet pass through. Thin curls of blue smoke drift up from the other cabins, other fires banked up for the day as other delinquents begin emerging, some in couples or threesomes, others alone. Paths converge and little knots and groups make their way together towards the center of camp where a giant plume of smoke rises into the crisp blue sky.

“Merry Christmas to all!” Jasper yells from his perch on top of the wall. A deep red scarf is wrapped multiple times around his neck and a thick green cap is tugged low over his ears so only his glittering eyes and the tip of his red nose pokes out from between the layers. He jumps down into the snow just as Clarke and Bellamy pass through the gate.

“Drinks? Drinks?” He shoves two steaming mugs at them and Clarke scrabbles to grab her’s before it tips into the snow. The scent of citrus and something spicy drifts under her nose.

“What is it this year?” Bellamy asks, sniffing his own appreciatively.

Jasper winks. “Secret recipe. You know the rules.”

Clarke laughs at Bellamy’s wrinkled nose and elbows him in the side. “Yeah. Busybody.”

She takes a careful sip of the hot liquid, balancing just on the edge of burning her tongue. It burns in a different way going down, definitely chock full of moonshine. But the other flavors burst on her tongue, warm fruit and nutty spices mingling together pleasantly.

Jasper watches her face eagerly. “Well?”

She grins and takes another long sip. “Tastes like Christmas.”

He pumps his fist in victory and whirls off towards the giant bonfire to grab more of his concoction.

The bonfire is huge, taking up more than half the area of the old camp. Clarke feels the heat from the blaze immediately and she gratefully steps closer. Bellamy shouts something across the clearing to Miller and Harper, the first two on firewood duty. Throughout the day, all of the hundred will take turns dragging more firewood in from the outskirts to keep the fire going.

Monty and Murphy drag long benches as close to the flames as they can, faces red and slick with sweat under their scarves. Murphy lets his end of the bench fall with a thump against the damp ground.

“Close enough, right?”

Monty leans on his end and sighs. “Whatever you say, Murphy.”

This year’s oversized evergreen is planted on the far side of the fire, a sturdy base of river stones keeping it upright. The branches are bare, but crates of garland and various carved ornaments are stacked nearby for the upcoming decorating.

The rest of the hundred filter in, the soft murmur of morning conversation breaking out into loud laughs and chatter and choruses of “Merry Christmas!”. A line forms just outside the Dropship’s thick, curtained door. Raven pokes her head out every few seconds with a business-like, “Next!” and then accepts the next present and disappears into the ship.

“Merry Christmas, Raven,” Clarke smiles as her friend reappears in the doorway.

Raven grins, but still takes the present from her hands. “Merry Christmas. Is your present marked?”

“Of course.”

Raven holds out her other hand to Bellamy. “Alright, what else you got?”

He slips his much smaller gift into her hand with a grin. “Secret, right?”

Raven’s gaze scans the little package, apparently finding the name Bellamy neatly printed on the side. Her grin widens. “Secret indeed.”

Clarke makes a show of pouting, pursing her lips at Bellamy. “Am I the only one you don’t tell these things to?”

He laughs and puts his arm around her, tugging her into his side. “Ah yes. Me, the gift-giver, and Raven, the gift-organizer, knowing the secret before you, is totally unfair and biased.”

“That’s right.” She nuzzles into him so that the wool lining of his collar catches at her hair.

Raven shakes her head at them and waves them away. “Get out of my line, lovebirds. Next!”

The benches fill up slowly but surely as the sun rises higher. Drinks are passed up and down the rows and the buzz of excitement swells. Clarke presses the balls of her feet into the slushy ground and hums contentedly under her breath, mug full of steaming Christmas drink and fingers intertwined with Bellamy’s. She burrows her nose against his neck and he leans into her, lips brushing softly over the crown of her head.

“Still cold, Princess?”

She smiles into his shoulder and shakes her head a little. “Just right.”

Wells starts the stories, pacing back and forth in front of the roaring flames, arms spread wide. Cries of encouragement break out between the delinquents, urging him to start. With a wide smile painted across his face he whirls dramatically.

“Let me tell you the story of the guiding star!”

Raven huffs from somewhere in the back row and Clarke giggles when she hears Murphy loudly whisper at her, “It’s a story, Reyes. The unscientific star can’t hurt you.”

She hears another, non-convincing huff from Raven, but Wells carries on, narrating the tale of the star appearing in the sky to guide three wisemen to their new king. Her friend’s voice rises and falls and Clarke finds herself enchanted, even though the story is an old one. When Wells finishes the story, there’s a roar of applause from the audience.

Before they can settle down again, Jasper jumps up on a bench with his mug raised in the air. “To our beloved Chancellor!”

“Seconded,” Murphy yells wryly.

Wells blushes and ducks his head, completely shy now that his story is over. “Guys, how many times do I have to tell you, I’m not…”

Clarke unsteadily jumps to her feet, aware of the way Bellamy grabs her hips to steady her. She raises her mug so fast that some liquid sloshes over onto her fist. “To our Chancellor!” she yells and winks at Wells.

There are huzzahs all around and the clinking of cups as everyone drinks deeply for the first toast of the day. Jasper drains his cup and tosses it somewhere beyond the crowd. “Alright! Now who’s up for some decorating contests!”

  
  
  


The tree is gorgeous, although so covered in paper chains and various gleaming baubles that it hardly resembles a tree anymore. Clarke is pleasantly buzzed, tingling right down to her toes.

They’re dancing, everyone swinging and whooping with their partners in a circle around the fire. Bellamy sweeps her forward, twirling her under his arms so that they’re side by side. They step in time around the circle for a few moments before he spins her back out to face him again. She falls against him, one hand on his shoulder and the other held tight between his calloused fingers. He leans close to her, foreheads almost touching.

“I love you.”

She closes her eyes, breathing in the scent of woodsmoke and pine and Bellamy pressed against her. His fingers on her hip tap in time with the drum beats. 

“I love you too.”

He grins, wild and free. And spins her again. And again.

Until the world is a blur of white crystals and flames and she’s laughing into the bright blue sky.

  
  
  


Clarke’s gift goes to Murphy and she watches with anticipation as he slowly unfolds the cloth.

“Clarke…”

She smiles, heart thrumming, fingers shaking.

“This is… too much.”

He holds up the canvas, a painting of him balancing on a rock in the river, sunlight gleaming across his bare back as he directs a fishing team. Last summer, Clarke balanced on the muddy bankside and sketched the scene, bursting with pride as she watched the formerly surly delinquent come into his own as a leader. Someone with a purpose and a place.

Murphy blinks at her a few more times and then back at the painting. “Thank you,” he says quietly, voice a bit strained.

“Merry Christmas,” she offers softly and he grins up at her, eyes glistening, before carefully tucking the painting away.

Bellamy nudges her fondly, and she tucks her hand under his elbow, grateful for his support.

Raven picks up a familiar package. “Clarke Griffin.”

Clarke whips around to face Bellamy, hair flying across her face. “Seriously?”

He’s biting his lip to hold in laughter, eyes dancing. “What?”

She stomps across to a giggling Raven and then back to her seat with the little package between her hands. Bellamy slings his arm back around her shoulders and she mutters under her breath but still sinks into his warmth.

“Well… open it!” Wells prompts from across the clearing.

There’s a bit of a subdued cheer as Clarke waves at her friend and then unwraps the soft blue cloth. A small wooden thing tumbles out into her palms, interlocking pieces of fresh pine forming a delicate wooden crown. She turns it around a few times, fingertips brushing across velvety smooth wood.

“Do you like it, Princess?” Bellamy whispers against her hair.

She reaches up and tips his chin down to kiss him. Hard. Hungrily. 

There’s a laugh and another cheer around the fire as she lets go.

“What do you think?”

He raises one eyebrow and leans into her again, gaze dark. “I don’t think I quite got that. Maybe you’d better show me one more time.”

  
  
  


The sky is velvet, diamond-like stars pricking through in spiraling constellations. The night draws close around the little camp, chilly air growing even colder.

They’re dancing again, Monroe and Sterling picking an even faster drum pattern. Footsteps whirl across the melted snow, trampling it down into the mud. Jasper keeps the drinks flowing. The firewood stacks up, enough for a night full of dancing and singing.

Clarke’s scarf dangles loosely around her neck as she twirls around Bellamy, head held high. He’s snapping his fingers in time with the music, color blooming high across his cheekbones, eyes bright with laughter.

She steps closer and around him again, always just an arm’s length away. Teasing. Daring.

He winks at her and steps into her space, hooking one arm around her waist and pulling them into the same orbit, cheek to cheek.

The Christmas tree stretches its majestic boughs in the background, a silent protector of the delinquents' long night. The stars twinkle merrily above and the forest around them is blissfully still, as if the earth itself needs to listen to the echoes of laughter rippling between the frosty trees.

Clarke tips her face up to Bellamy for a soft kiss, making sure not to lose the crown tucked against her hair. A princess with a prince and a kingdom of her own. A family.

Even in the bleak darkness of midwinter, she feels warm.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
